Kintsugi
by Yvanthe
Summary: Mycroft and Sherrinford Holmes spend a night with the Met Charity


If there was just one thing in particular that she hated about her job, it was that a certain amount of socialization was required for it but no one had ever said that she was expected to enjoy it. Truth be told, Sherrinford Holmes hated every little thing about the social scene she was obliged to participate in. She hated the overheated room, the cloying and overpowering mix of combating perfumes and colognes, the dizzying array of sights and sounds but most of all, she loathed the patent falseness of it all.

A glass of what appeared to be champagne appeared in front of her and she glanced over at Mycroft, who held the glass in question. "Your usual," he murmured, studying the room with a slightly amused look on his face. To be fair, this type of event was more to his taste than hers, he had been a natural in amongst the privileged set at school – something she hadn't been able to fake. What was acceptable in a man was less so for a woman in the hallowed halls – as Mycroft had said once, she was 'too'. Too dainty, too exotic, too intelligent, and far too disinterested in the day to day minutiae of society – she was interested in the bigger issues at play.

She took the glass from him with a smile, took a sip of 'champagne' which was actually sparkling grape juice and studied the room. "Remind me why we're here again?"

"It's the same reason as five minutes ago, sister mine," Mycroft droned, glancing about the room, nodding pleasantly at some of the guests, "We're placating our dear friends at the Met." When she sneered at him, he said, "Surely even you can see that referring to the Deputy Commissioner as a lackwit was ill-advised."

_'Yes_', she thought with complete 20/20 hindsight, _'ill-advised, accurate but ill-advised'_. One choice comment which explained why she was stuck in this haute couture nightmare and high heels and was forced to exchange pleasantries with London's elite while the Metropolitan Police Force extorted money for some charity. She'd attended only because the Commissioner had stated that his senior Deputies refused to work with her any longer. A series of particular nasty bombings in London had eroded her temper to the point where she simply couldn't suffer fools any longer and one particularly inane comment caused her to explode.

Now she had to live with the consequences. Over the course of the night, she was going to be introduced to several highly placed and supposedly intelligent Commanders in the Met who had the possibility of becoming her liaison. She'd met three already, she was dreading the fourth.

Looking out over the room, she glanced over at her brother and quipped, "If you love me, you'll take pity on me and kill me."

Mycroft quirked a brow at her, then gave a half bow to some high society lady, "It won't kill you to be polite, Sherrinford."

"It might," she muttered, setting her empty glass on the tray of a passing waiter, "There's a display of enamel-work in the gallery that I would very much like to look at," she said simply, knowing that Mycroft would understand her need for a moment of solitude. "I shan't be more than a minute or two. Cover for me?" At his nod, she slipped out of main gallery room and into the quieter side room.

The room in question was devoted to Byzantine cloissonne work, exquisitely fine detailed enamel in a blinding array of colours. She admired the artisan who had laboriously set precious gems and enamel into gold, meticulously soldering wire into place and polishing the piece to a high gloss. Engrossed in the detail, she was startled when a rough hand grabbed her elbow.

This man who held her arm in a vice-like grip looked every bit the part of the Commander, almost as if someone had scripted it so. Tall, strong square jaw, wheat blond hair and dark grey eyes – this one was used to getting his way, by force or intimidation if the grip on her elbow was any indication. He gazed down at her, taking in the understated grace of the dress, the simple French coil her hair was swept back into, her minimal jewelry and he made a judgment call. "You'll tell the Commissioner that we suit," he said, as his eyes raked over her form, "I'll make it worth your while."

The wrong call, as it happened. She felt her spine stiffen, her chin start to lift and she said, "I doubt that."

He laughed at her, his eyes like steel, "You have a reputation for being blunt so that's what you get, would you prefer that I fed you some rot about your eyes being the colour of that turquoise there." She glanced down at the case beside her.

"The stone is lapis." She heard a voice say, and their eyes flicked over to the uniformed constable at the door, "Begging your pardon, sir, but Deputy Commission Humphries is looking for you. He's in the company of a young baroness, sorry but I don't know who she is."

The commander straightened his uniform as he sneered, "Of course, you don't." He glanced down at Sherrinford, "We'll talk later."

The constable waited until the commander had left the area before asking, "You okay, ma'am?" She smiled and nodded, her hand massaging her elbow. He stepped forward, looking at her carefully before nodding to himself, "He's dead wrong."

"Wrong?" she said, suddenly curious to see what this constable had to say. If his posture and the smirk on his face was any indication, she had a very sudden feeling that Deputy Commissioner Humphries would be very surprised to see the Commander.

"Your eyes aren't turquoise, rather hard to define them, really. Blue, flecks of green, touches of gold - reminds me of a Kintsugi teapot I saw on display once."

She stared at him, "Kintsugi?"

"Yea," he said, gesturing to another room in the museum, "It's a Japanese thing, supposedly a Shogun broke a piece of pottery so precious that he had his artisans repair it with gold lacquer. In many cases the pottery becomes all the more beautiful for being broken. You have beautiful eyes." He stepped back, moving back towards the entrance and for the first time in the evening, she found herself intrigued. He grinned at her, "It'd be best if I took off, I expect he'll be back soon. You should likely move off as well, ma'am."

She nodded, smiling in spite herself, "Yes, I probably should, Constable?" The question hung in the air.

"Lestrade, Ma'am."

Smiling as she walked past him, she reached out, the tips of her fingers trailing across the shoulder of his uniform, "See you around, Lestrade."

Notes:

This was a commissioned story for HeayPuckett - she gave me a task on a day where I really needed a distraction and a friend - I got both.


End file.
